


I've Been Thinking Too Much

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Castiel & Charlie Bradbury Friendship, Castiel (Supernatural) Has OCD - Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Dean is a Sweetheart, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff, Ice Skating, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Insecure Castiel, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Mostly Fluff, Past Cassie Robinson/Dean Winchester, Past Castiel/April Kelly, Past Relationship(s), Snow and Ice, Some angst, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Winter, awkward first meetings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 13:05:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12818145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: "I know you have a wild and crazy side somewhere inside that miserable, self-punishing little body of yours—listen to your gut. You know, that feeling that just sorta comes out of nowhere?” Charlie says. “Most of the time, it’s the right feeling to go with. And even if you fall, it’ll only leave a bruise and bruises heal.”Cas isn’t sure if she’s talking about skating anymore, but his mind is still stuck on the word gut like someone trying to complete the Sunday crossword: What’s a synonym for gut? “Is that like anxiety? Because that sorta just comes outta nowhere.”





	I've Been Thinking Too Much

**Author's Note:**

> Title inspired by "Heavydirtysoul" by twenty one pilots. OCD inspired by my own daily fight. I tell you this not for pity (and I'll admit, I'm known for throwing many pity parties), but so you, reader, know you're truly not alone. I hope, if you're fighting any mental illness, this brings you some reassurance. Or even just makes you smile. #AKF everyone.

“You said we were gonna make snow angels.”

“C’mon, Cas, this’ll be better than snow angels! Whoa, what’s that over there?!”

Cas makes the mistake of whipping his head because Charlie pries apart his death-grip on the chilly railing and he’s thrown forward, leaving Cas looking like a distressed chicken minus the feathers. “ _Not_ funny, Charlie,” he grits through clattering teeth once he finds the railing again. “Remind me again why I couldn’t stay home and do something less… _physical_ ,” Cas hisses, “like reading a book.”

Charlie scoffs, “Please, you’d read one sentence and whip up a five-page analysis as to how it relates to you and your current situation. That’s the exact opposite of distraction.”

“Yeah, but I’m _good_ at that.”

“ _Everyone’s_ good at feeding their OCD, Cas.”

“Except people who don’t have OCD,” Cas points out—literally, causing him to fumble a little. Once he catches his breath and loses it at the same time to a cloud of white mist, he places one hand on his hip. “I take pride in that.”

“That’s your whole problem, man,” she says, gliding into U-turn so she faces him directly. Her long red hair is spotted with snow except where her Pokéball beanie covers and, judging by the way her head’s tilting forward to barely reveal her olive green eyes, Cas should prepare for one of her famous _Braveheart-_ style speeches. (Charlie is a part-time LARPer for a _Lord of the Rings_ rip-off fantasy, so it’s suiting.) “You let your mental illness define you. Would you have even dated April if you’d listened to it completely?”

Cas swallows thickly.

“Exactly. So quit talking yourself out of a good thing. I know you have a wild and crazy side somewhere inside that miserable, self-punishing little body of yours—listen to your gut. You know, that feeling that just sorta comes out of nowhere?” Charlie says. “Most of the time, it’s the right feeling to go with. And even if you fall, it’ll only leave a bruise and bruises heal.”

Cas isn’t sure if she’s talking about skating anymore, but his mind is still stuck on the word gut like someone trying to complete the Sunday crossword: What’s a synonym for gut? “Is that like anxiety? Because that sorta just comes outta nowhere.”

Charlie sighs, “Okay… we’re gonna work on that. But right now, I have to go.”

Cas throws his head back ( _gently_ ) with wide, panicked eyes. “What? What do you mean? Where’re you going?”

“ _I_ have a date with Destiny… literally, her name is Destiny.” Before she can meet Cas’s dismayed look, Charlie skates off, yelling, “You’ll thank me later!”

Cas scoffs under his breath, “Yeah, right. Okay…” His heart starts to pound, allowing some semblance of warmth to spread through his chest to battle the cold (and who says anxiety isn’t good for something?).

Although he hates ice skating, the scenery this time of year is breathtaking. Everything’s decorated in white, the roads, the driveways, the rooftops, the sky—even the cable lines and the cardinals perched so confidently on them. It’s a second-coming of snowfall when they migrate to their nests in the pine trees and shake the branches with their well-fed little bodies. Their excited chatter blends easy with the chatter on the ground, where at least a hundred other people are skating. He groans when a six-year-old girl flies past him.

He attempts lifting his index finger from the railing first, one at a time, but somehow finds himself slipping. He tries again, this time starting with his pinkie to no success. Better to rip it off like a Band-Aid.

Of course, Cas was one grade away from valedictorian, so it’s no surprise his legs split like an overturned banana peel before he loses touch with the ground completely. Just as he’s about to fall face forward and make a rougher impression of a snow angel, something catches him. Something really warm and smelling strongly of American culture—cherry pie and Coca-Cola with a hint of natural woodsy musk. It’s enough for Cas to glance up and what he sees captivates him more than the scenery.

“Hey, you okay there, pal?”

Cas blinks a few times before remembering Morse is not something most are fluent in. “Um… yeah, I—sorry, I don’t have much of a balance.”

The guy in front of him laughs, still gripping Cas’s forearms. It’s a rich, deep laugh—the kind that, if it was currency, would take years to dig just to uncover. “I don’t think many of us do,” he responds, emerald eyes alight with amusement. For a moment, they just stare at each other before the guy chews his bottom pink and plenty plush lip. It’s like a body pillow, you just wanna sink into it. “But skating is easy.”

Feeling even more embarrassed, Cas laughs, “Right.”

“Dean,” the guy says, lifting one of his hands from Cas to offer to him. When Cas shakes it, he slips a little again. Dean’s hand flies back to Cas’s shoulder with a small chuckle, “My mistake.”

“Cas,” he returns, the frostnip on his cheeks tickling a little as it morphs from a stark white to bright red.

With Dean’s hand’s still around him, he skates back a few inches to grab the railing again. That’s when Dean removes his hand, this time safely, to retrieve something from his puffy flannel coat pocket. “I take it you don’t live with your parents,” notes Dean, pulling out a pair of black gloves. “My mom would kill me if I left the house without ‘em. These were supposed to be for my little brother, but he bailed on me to go to the library instead—can you believe that? Who would chose staying in to read on a day like this?”

Cas clears his throat after a second, “No, yeah, totally.”

“Here,” Dean says, handing the gloves over before gripping Cas again. Cas pulls himself forward and slips them on, trying not to focus on Dean’s breath hitting his forehead. “This too,” he adds, wrapping his right arm around Cas’s back so he can pluck the grey beanie from his head, revealing a bush of hair that’s the color of the inside of a Milky Way bar. It’s even whipped up in a point.

“No, I couldn’t,” Cas protests lightly.

“Don’t worry about it,” reassures Dean with a wry smile. “My dad used to say us Winchesters are thick-headed, anyway.”

Cas wants to question, but slips the beanie on despite. It’s warm and smells of vanilla—a simple scent, but nothing about Cas is simple, so it’s a nice change.

“So, shall we?”

Cas’s mouth parts. He tries to hide the horror blooming on his face from the seeds of anxiety nestling in his chest, but with Dean so close, it only submerges them deeper. “I don’t know…”

“Don’t worry, I won’t let you fall,” Dean says, and it’s enough to defuse his anxiety enough for a smile to tip Cas’s face. Dean lifts his left hand so it covers Cas’s right, which is still gripping his shoulder like a cat out of water. “Do you trust me, Cas?”

Cas nods, loosening his hand a little, and then Dean’s hooking his thumb underneath Cas’s palm. Carefully, he slips his fingers through the clothed webs of Cas’s fingers. Cas’s face heats up even more, but he manages to close his fingers around Dean’s own gloved hand.

“See?” Dean says, grinning, “It’s just like dancing.”

“I haven’t danced in my life,” Cas admits shyly, “I didn’t even go to prom.”

“I didn’t go to prom either, but I still did a little dancing.”

Cas shakes his head and looks down at his skates to avoid baring the gummiest smile he’s put on in a while. That proves to be disastrous, though, when he starts to slip again.

“Don’t look at your feet, look at me,” guides Dean. When Cas looks up at him again, he still finds the same, unwavering grin on his face. He’s even blushing a little, too. “For the record, Cassie Robinson was so worth it.”

“I had a girlfriend, too. April. She’s…” Cas strays off the once-beaten path of dialogue. She _was_ a lot of things.

Dean’s face twists into a frown. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright; I probably pushed her away, anyway.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I have OCD,” Cas says, shrugging his shoulders like he’s one of the surrounding trees with its branches littered with snow, “which is basically a thinking disorder. I have doubts, worry… fear. And when I’m in a relationship—any relationship that’s really important to me—I irrationalize things.”

Dean narrows his eyes. “Don’t we all do that, though?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, don’t we all have doubts? And worry? And fear is a survival technique,” Dean explains, “We’ve had fear since cavemen had wooden sticks to ward off their enemies. It’s a blessing, really. We’d die without it.”

Cas nods slowly. “I guess, but…”

“Without fear, my mom wouldn’t have left my abusive father,” Dean continues, “Without doubt; we would’ve never been able to even _see_ how abusive he was to us. And worry… sorry to break it to you, but worry is an everyday thing. I guarantee you everyone in this rink is shitting their pants over something or someone right now. That’s why they come here.” Dean shakes his head with a small laugh. Cas knows his frostnip is fading because he feels Dean rubbing circles with his thumb on the top of his hand. “It probably sounds crazy, but I’m worried about my brother. And he’s at the _library—_ the quietest and most boring place on earth.”

“Well that thought makes me feel better about my skating abilities,” Cas says, laughing a little, “and it’s not crazy at all. I’m worried my best friend Charlie left me for some girl named Destiny.”

“Cas.”

“What? It’s true! I didn’t believe it at first, either—!”

“No, Cas, look. You’re skating.”

Bewildered, Cas glances down to see his feet moving on their own accord, guiding _Dean_ instead. “Holy crap!” he laughs, throwing his arms around Dean. Dean, of course, loses balance and his back hits the ice with Cas on top of him. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think…”

To Cas’s even further surprise, Dean’s eyes widen and a full-on smile lifts his high-set, freckled cheekbones. “You didn’t what?”

“I didn’t…” Cas stops, realizing. His eyes widen too as he starts to laugh, “I didn’t think!”

For a moment, they just stare at each other in complete awe, despite the strange looks in their direction. Then, before Cas’s brain can kick back into gear to stop him, he closes the gap between his and Dean’s lips. Dean kisses back, warming Cas’s lips like a cup of hot cocoa, and wrapping his arms around him like a polyester blanket, and that’s when Cas feels it.

Deep in his gut—it’s faint, but it’s there: it’s a feeling.

And it’s a good one.


End file.
